


Then The Drink Takes You

by Lynzee005, RedemptionByFire (steelneena)



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Drinking, Excessive Drinking, Multi, New Year's Eve, Party, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynzee005/pseuds/Lynzee005, https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/RedemptionByFire
Summary: A drunken New Year's Eve at the Great Northern turns into a night of musical rooms when the power goes out...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fun little idea that we had to beat the Christmas blues we both felt! We hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Story title via F. Scott Fitzgerald: "First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you."

Two weeks before Christmas, everyone who was anyone in the Twin Peaks zipcode received the following invitation shoved into their mailbox next to Gentleman Jim's Christmas flyer and that week's copy of the Twin Peaks  _Gazette:_

Maybe nobody had solved the murder of Laura Palmer, and maybe there was still a serial killer on the loose, but it didn't have to get in the way of the festivities. Suits were pressed; dresses were dry cleaned; hair appointments were made; at least one bedazzled eyepatch was procured for the event.  
  
After the year they'd had, there was no way any of the invitees would miss the chance to mix and mingle at the grandest soiree in this corner of the state...  
  
... _Mix and mingle_ being the operative phrase, in more ways than one, as it turned out.


	2. Chapter 2

“I told you we were going to be late…” Cooper muttered as he stepped into the Timber Room, shaking heavy, wet snowflakes from the creases in his jacket.

Sheriff Truman followed a half-step behind. “Paperwork wasn’t gonna finish itself,” he shot back, rolling his shoulders as he looked around the room. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be there; if it weren’t for the social obligation, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all. But he was the Sheriff; it was expected.

Spotting Josie, however, Truman stood up a little straighter. The last time he’d spoken to her, she’d been unsure about her attendance. He was glad to see that she’d made the choice to go; if he had to be there, at least her presence would make it worthwhile.

“Paperwork couldn’t wait for one night?” Cooper returned, clapping his hands together in front of him half in glee and half to warm them up. “Come on, Harry! Look lively! It’s New Year’s Eve!”

Truman had the good grace to look properly shamefaced. “Never would’ve figured you for a party animal,” he said, giving the impeccably attired FBI Agent a once-over as he fumbled self-consciously with the buttoned-up cuff of his shirt sleeve. “‘Least you’ve got your good suit on.”

Cooper, who’d been scanning the hall for signs of the one person he was hoping to see, turned an intuitive eye to his friend, and then back out over the sea of faces. Then he smiled. “You look fine, Harry,” he said, placing a hand on Truman’s shoulder, adding: “And so does Josie.”

Truman shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He knew it showed on his face when Cooper laughed. “Think I should ask her to dance?”

Cooper motioned widely around him. 

All around them, the hall had been decked out in silver and gold trimming for the glamourous evening, with hints of evergreen foliage in every corner. Candles and ornaments laid out around the room cast a warm ambient glow to the proceedings, sparkling in even the dimmest corner. It looked as if it had been plucked from the pages of a magazine, perfectly apportioned and charmingly festive.

Romance, or what passed for it in the town of Twin Peaks, was most definitely in the air.

“Look at this place, Harry. It’d be a crime if you didn’t.”

Off to the side, just out of earshot but side-eyeing the late arrivals lingering in the doorway, Ben Horne side nudged his brother, whose scoff was barely audible over the sound of the big band playing in the far opposite corner.

“Well, looky who decided to drop in,” Jerry said, keeping a broad but fake smile on his face as Cooper and Truman turned their attention to their hosts.

“Play nice, Jerry,” Ben warned.

The two law enforcement professionals made their way to where the Brothers Horne stood; it was Cooper who extended his hand first. “Evening, Ben. Jerry. Happy New Year.”

“Same to you, Agent Cooper,” Ben nodded, moving to shake the Sheriff’s hand. “Sheriff. It’s good of you both to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Cooper replied, his smile stretched tightly across his face. “I hear it’s _the_ social event of the Twin Peaks calendar year.”

Ben returned the smile, if that’s what it could be called. “We don’t do things by halves here, Agent Cooper.”

 _So I noticed_ , Cooper thought. _Cocaine...arson...grisly murder…_

“Dance, anyone?”

Four sets of eyes turned to spy Audrey Horne sashaying toward them.

She, in her turn, only had eyes for one of them.

Cooper’s dark thoughts were instantly banished to a far corner in his mind. “Audrey you look simply spectacular!” he said, and it was true. Audrey lit up the room, dazzling the onlookers in a black satin number.

Ben lost all pretense of joviality; he stood up ramrod straight and tugged at his suit jacket sleeve. “Audrey, shouldn’t you be manning the dessert table?”

Audrey rolled her eyes in barely concealed contempt. “Daddy, I’m not one of your employees and this is a party. Besides, I didn’t have anyone decent to dance with last year,” her gaze lingered on Cooper. “I’m not about to pass up the opportunity.”

Cooper glanced between Ben, Jerry, Truman, and Audrey, before deciding that dancing with Audrey would be exactly the escape he needed. “I’d love to dance,” he said, stepping away from the group to take Audrey’s hand.

As the two of them melted away into the sea of couples on the dance floor, Sheriff Truman shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well then,” he started, though he had nothing more to say after it. The statement lingered there, awkwardly, like mistletoe above the trio. “A bit of a snowstorm movin’ in,” he said finally.

Ben scowled and nodded to the far corner of the room. “It's an open bar. Over there. Have a drink,” he said, less of an invitation and more of a command. Truman, not one to argue, took his advice, beelining to the bar with barely a word of fare-thee-well to Ben or Jerry, anticipating his glass of rye far more than he’d expected.  

The bartender shot him an expectant look. “Canadian Club,” he ordered absently. He turned away from the bar as soon as his drink was in hand, surveying the festivities.

Out on the dance floor, couples lazily drifted about to a softer blues number, velvet crush and satin skirts brushing against crisp ironed creases in dark dress pants. Feet stepped in time with the croon of the saxophone. Pearls shot off the occasional gleam in the soft, warm light. Just one layer beneath the song, glasses clinked and silverware rung against china.

“Good evening, Harry,” a soft voice sounded, barely above the din. Truman turned and saw Josie at his elbow, a discreet enough distance away to not cause any tongue-wagging, but close enough that he could smell her perfume. He downed the contents of his glass and smiled.

“You look beautiful, Josie.”

“Aren't you going to ask me to dance?”

He cast a cautious glance around the room. “Do you think that it’s...appropriate?”

Josie shrugged, amusement dancing on her face. “Two old friends, pillars of the community, sharing a New Year's moment. Where’s the harm in that?”

Not that he needed convincing. He set his glass down on the bar top and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor, careful to avoid any appearance of impropriety, consciously putting his hand several inches above the curve of Josie’s lower back, which is where he _wanted_ it to land.

So it was that many of the couples swaying around them seemed to be locked, in ways that suggested easy intimacy but never anything scandalous. Bobby Briggs and Shelly Johnson remained respectfully distant as they danced on the opposite side of the room, near the band and in the middle of the action.

“Why don’t we go dancing more often?” Shelly asked.

Bobby shot a forced smile at a passing couple. “Why don’t we go dancing? Shelly, where would we go dancing in this town?”

She shrugged. “We could go to Spokane, maybe?”

Bobby almost laughed. “Like I’m gonna drive two hours to go to some dive bar for a–”

Shelly hung her head, and Bobby instantly felt remorse.

“Aww, Shelly, c’mon,” he urged. “Lighten up. It’s New Year’s Eve. We don’t get a lot of opportunities to go out. Let’s make tonight count, okay?”

Shelly nodded, smiling again as another couple passed by them. “All right, Bobby.”

“We’re just two people celebrating the end of a difficult year, right?”

“Whatever you say," she replied.

They swung around near the fireplace, past Nadine and Ed Hurley, who had just finished a turn around the room. Nadine collapsed into a chair in exhaustion.

“Oh Ed, I need a break,” she said. “My feet hurt and my shoes are ugly anyway…”

“No one’s lookin’ at your shoes, darlin’,” Ed offered.

Nadine, far from being angry or put out, sat firm in her chair. “I just can’t, Eddy,” she said, bouncing a little in her seat. “I feel like sharing you. Look–so many women out there with no dance partners at all! You should be asking _them_ to dance.”

That was exactly what Ed was afraid of. Ever since he’d seen Norma Jennings arrive, alone, in a champagne-coloured dress that left very little to the imagination, he’d been desperately trying everything he could to avoid her. Now, with one point of her delicately manicured finger, his own wife was usurping his plan.

“Look over there!” Nadine cried out. “Doesn’t Norma look sad without a dance partner?”

Ed gulped. “Nadine, I–”

“Oh, Eddy,” she smiled. “Her husband isn’t here, and she’s all dressed up really pretty-like. At least ask her.”

“But _you’re_ dressed up all pretty-like too, Nadine, and–”

“Ed,” she replied, in a voice he’d heard before and knew better than to mess with. There was no getting out of this one easily. With a gentle shove from Nadine, Ed began the long trek across the dance floor to Norma’s side.

“Hi,” he said, stopping a short distance from her.

“Hi.” She glanced up from where she was seated and smiled. A glow came over her in that moment, as her lips curled like they had a million times ago.

“You uh…you wanna dance?” Though time had gone by, he still felt the nervous twist of his stomach, like he was balancing on a precipice just waiting for the fall.

Norma looked past Ed back across the room. “What about Nadine?”

“She insisted.” Ed replied, though it lacked the conviction he’d hoped to convey.

Norma didn’t seem placated, but she set down her wine glass and offered him her hand. “One dance, Ed.”

Ed slid his hand into hers, marvelling at how well they still fit together after all these years, wondering how it would feel to sway with her on the dance floor again. _One dance?_ he thought, feeling his heart sink a little. Still, he nodded. “Understood.” It was better than nothing. _Better than I could have hoped._

They entered the fray as the band kicked in with a new song, a slow and lingering jazz ballad. Passing by Lucy and Andy, standing slightly apart from the festivities, Ed and Norma disappeared into the crowd.

“I know you’re worried, Punky, but I’m sure she’s just fine,” Andy urged.

Lucy sighed. “It’s just the first time we’ve left her alone like this,” she said. “She’s still so little. What if she wakes up looking for us?”

Andy’s eyes widened. Their daughter was but an infant, and it _was_ their first time leaving her alone, even if it was with Lucy’s mother. Andy was the only one who knew the song that they used to lull her to sleep, and Lucy seemed to be the only person who could rock her _just so_ if she woke up in the middle of the night.

“Maybe we should call,” Andy wondered aloud.

But Doctor Hayward, overhearing the conversation, insinuated himself between them. “Lucy, Andy, I promise you that little Jillian will be fine if her parents don’t call to check in on her every fifteen minutes,” he said with a smile.

“But how do you _know_ , Doctor Hayward?” Lucy asked.

He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and smiled. “We’ve been down this road a few times ourselves,” he said. “And Donna, Harriet, and Gersten all turned out just fine.”

Seeing Donna waltz in at that exact moment was serendipitous. She smiled at Lucy, and Lucy relaxed a bit; Andy’s hand unclenched slightly from its claw-like death grip on Lucy’s elbow.

“Good evening Deputy Brennan. Good evening, Lucy,” Donna said with a broad smile. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Donna,” Andy said.

“Where’s your date tonight?” Lucy asked, a hint of conspiratorial girlishness in her voice.

Donna grinned, albeit sadly, as she scanned the room, seeing James standing by himself beside the fireplace on the far wall. “No date,” she said. “Free as a bird.”

“Did I hear you say you have no date tonight, Miss Hayward?” Dick Tremayne said as he walked by. Seeing Andy and Lucy, he blanched noticeably. Still, he kept to his original tack, slipping his arm through Donna’s and patting her on the wrist. “Then perhaps you’ll save me a space on your dance card?”

“We’ll see about that,” Doc Hayward interjected, and as Donna grinned apologetically, Dick–appropriately scared off–excused himself.

Far across the room, James Hurley watched Donna’s arrival with eager, if slightly detached, interest.

“Pretty gal, your friend Donna,”

James turned to find Dr. Jacoby, leaned up against the wall, nursing the last watery dregs of his beverage.

“Hi, Doctor Jacoby,” he replied, absently, before looking back out at the crowd. “Yeah, Donna looks great tonight.” He leaned back against the wall and sighed. _Too great_ , he said. _Why did I ever let her go?_

“Piece of advice for you–you’d better go get your groove on, before someone else snatches her up.”

It sounded like the type of comment a man with considerable experience might make; James paid attention, standing up straight and pushing himself away from the wall.

“Thanks, Doctor Jacoby,” he said.

“My pleasure,” the psychiatrist replied with wry smile. Empty drinking glass in hand, he headed off to the bar for a refill. The area by the bar was crowded with people, but he angled his way into a free spot, rapped on the bar twice. When he’d gotten the attention of the bartender, he held up his glass, pointing at it, and smiled.

“I thought we were beyond crude hand gestures,” Catherine Martell muttered, her words falling from her lips like honey. She was seated on one of the stools, one arm propped on the rail of the bar, her fingers cradling the stem of a wine glass with a delicacy that heavily contrasted with the stony look on her face and her sharply raised eyebrow.

“Well Christ, Catherine, we can’t all have superhuman hearing,” he retorted, annoyed. Jacoby rolled his eyes at her scoff, snatched his drink and hurried off towards _blonder_ pastures...

Back near the fireplace, Cooper and Audrey tiptoed in a casual embrace that belied the difficult and strange year of friendship that existed between them. If anyone suspected that their relationship had deepened, they hadn’t let on. Still, Cooper never let his hand slip into the small of Audrey’s back, and Audrey kept her hand on Cooper’s shoulder the entire time.

“You _are_ looking rather marvelous this evening, Audrey,” Cooper told her, his voice deep and husky in the back of his throat.

Audrey smiled. “All the better to catch your attention with.”

“It worked.” He flexed his fingers against the softly shimmering fabric of her dress.

“I know,” was all she replied.

Cooper blushed and spun the two of them around and away from the prying eyes of both Ben Horne near the door and the oddly penetrating gaze of Margaret Lanterman, seated near the bar.

Margaret, for her turn, saw _everything_ anyway.

“Well hello there, Margaret,” Pete Martell said as he sidled up to her barstool. “Happy New Year.”

Margaret’s thinly-veiled annoyance was lost on Pete. “We shall see about that,” she intoned, still casting her suspicious eyes about the room.

Pete’s eyebrows lifted and he let out an inaudible whistle. “Fancy a dance?”

Margaret turned in her seat, facing him fully. “Where would I put my log?” she asked.

Nonplussed, Pete shrugged. “Good question.”

She turned back to face the crowd. “Something strange is in the air tonight,” she said, stroking the log in her arms and narrowing her eyes. “Something very strange indeed…”

***

As pre-dinner dancing gave way to the dinner conversation, and then to post-dinner drinks and more dancing, the glittering night laid itself out in front of Ben Horne’s assembled guests. By eleven o’clock, most people had moved on to harder drinks; almost everyone had a tumbler of _something_ in their hands, and the empty bottles behind the bar began to outnumber the full ones. With alcohol goggles firmly in place, propriety was cast aside. Lips loosened. Hands roved. Nobody cared who was watching, and the people doing the watching didn’t care what they saw.

The midnight countdown approached quickly; couples who had arrived together paired off to be near one another for the obligatory New Year kiss. Singletons, too, seemed happy enough to pair off themselves, though there were still a few solo stragglers who jokingly offered up their services should they be needed by anyone partner-less come the stroke of twelve.

So it was that the bubbly emerged from the kitchen and a champagne flute found its way into each and every hand. A drunk Jerry Horne came out from somewhere dressed as a baby to uproarious laughter; Ben found the whole thing remarkably unfunny, but still led the countdown to the New Year, keeping the microphone as far away from Jerry’s drunken grasp as he could while still owning the stage on which he stood.

But as the clock struck midnight and the cheers of a room full of revellers drowned out Ben’s amplified and ostensibly official pronouncement of the New Year, Deputy Hawk burst into the room, covered in snow. The cheers and applause and the rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne came to a screeching halt.

“The road’s closed,” Hawk announced, loud enough for the first third of partygoers to hear him; their murmuring voices relayed the information to everyone in the back, until the din of confusion and panic rose to overtake the hall.

“Come again?” Ben spoke into the microphone.

“The drifts are six feet high in places,” Hawk said, gesturing behind him and out the doors. “Plows won’t be able to make it up the mountain until morning. We’re stuck here.”

Before the inebriated party-goers could erupt into discord, Ben wrested control of the situation, with Jerry scrambling drunkenly to follow him, still in his enormous diaper.

“All right, everyone, all right,” he said, holding up his hand as he projected an air of calm into the room. “In light of this news and the inclement weather, I think it’s safe to say that we’ll be getting pretty cozy here tonight. Now, I am prepared to offer everyone a room for half–”

But before he could finish, Jerry snatched the mic, pulling it out of his brother’s grasp.

“Room’s are being issued _gratis_ tonight! On the house! Just like the gin and tonics!” he shouted, lifting his glass and sloshing his drink over the edge and down his bare forearm before taking a liberal swig.

Ben, eyes flashing angrily despite his genial, businessman’s smile, elbowed his brother with enough force to knock him sideways and retrieved the mic, dampened from Jerry's spill. He held it in two fingers, careful not to let any of the spilled drink drip onto his shoes.

“If you would all please report to the front desk, we’ll get you all situated for the night. Thank you.” Dropping the wet microphone onto the bandstand, he slung an arm over Jerry’s shoulders. Tightly. “What are we running here, a business or a charity? What in the hell were you thinking?” he asked through clenched teeth. “My God man, think of the money...”

He led Jerry towards the main exit, passing Audrey and Cooper without even so much as a glance.

“I ought to go help at the desk,” Audrey began, mentally tallying up the number of people already clamouring for the lobby and fitting them into the vacant rooms of the hotel.

“Of course! Duty first, Audrey. I always liked that about you.” There was humour in Cooper’s voice and a sparkle in his eye. Audrey’s laugh was lively, and Cooper caught himself watching the shine of her hair, the crinkle at her eyes and the pleasant flush that had blossomed across her cheeks. Firmly, he corralled his thoughts, and set down his champagne flute, unfinished. _That’s enough of that._

“You know, we missed midnight…” Her finger ran down his tie enticingly and–

The lights went out. From out in the hall, Ben Horne yelled something incoherent. Small shrieks and laughter emerged from the darkness, only offset by the glow of a few, lingering candles and what was left of the once-roaring fire.

“All right everyone,” Truman calmed the crowd. “Front desk is this way.” A flashlight bobbed in his hand, another in Hawk’s, scrounged from the cabinet behind the bar. Audrey left Cooper’s side and joined the men up front, and when she finally got behind the desk, she dug out a handful of extra candles and three more flashlights, which she and the front desk attendant put to use while they checked in the guests the old fashioned way–on pen and paper. Cooper, Truman, Hawk, and Andy set about doing crowd control, leading people up the stairs as best they could once their rooms were assigned.

It took the better part of forty-five minutes before the lobby had cleared out. The hotel was full, with only a scant handful of rooms left empty.

Finally, she closed the bookings ledger and set it out on the middle of the desk, as both she and the on-shift attendant sighed and let out nervous laughter. Audrey blew out the candles and let herself out into the lobby.

She didn’t need light to navigate through this old hotel. With light feet and eagle-eyes, Audrey slipped through the shadows of the Great Northern’s labyrinthine hallways until she reached room 315. Her fingers traced the door handle as she pushed and turned and unlatched the door.

The room was empty, curiously. But it didn’t matter. She climbed into bed anyway and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! We are just having too much fun with this story!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Twin Peaks Day! Have a chapter!

Catherine was already starting carefully up the staircase when Pete spoke up. “Whelp, it’s five to one.” He pulled his sleeve back over his watch. “I’m going to go and see if I can do something about those lights. Least I could do, I figure,” He shrugged.

Catherine sent a scathing look through the shadows. “Do whatever you like, I’m going to bed,”

“Suit yourself,” He said, shrugging one shoulder into the arm of his coat. “I might be a while,”

Catherine didn’t respond, ignoring him utterly, and began to head up the stairs. She had other plans in mind. As best as she could, from recall alone, Catherine felt her way up the stairwell.  While most of the rest of the guests had already found their rooms, they had lingered. Pete, simply because he’d wanted to help. Catherine because it was more convenient, considering. 

The room she desired was one that Ben had told her about, secretly, slipping her the key in passing. I’ll find you there, later, won’t I? He’d asked, suggestively. She had sent him a leer in return, which he’d replicated on the spot. The door opened easily and she slipped inside just as a shadowed presence padded down the hall behind her, neither noticing the other.

The shadow was none other than Josie Packard. Harry had told her that he’d be up later, after all the other guests had been taken care of and had asked her to wait for him but she wanted to surprise him. And he was sure to go to his own room first. Quietly, she felt her way down the hallway, counting the down the numbers as she passed the doors, 307, 310, 317… She tried the door, found it locked. Mentally, she recounted. There was of course, the possibility that he hadn’t come up yet, but, firmly confident, Josie stepped back two paces and tried the door. Finding it unlocked, a tiny smile graced her lips. Harry would be in for such a surprise...

Meanwhile, on the opposite end of the hall, another figure lurked. Cooper had never been to Audrey’s room, but he knew the number and reasoned that it was really only a matter of relying on his mental maps of the place to accurately find his way to her door…

Inside the room Cooper had paused outside to collect his thoughts, Big Ed and Nadine lay in bed. 

“Nadine?” Ed whispered, cracking open an eye, trying to glimpse in the moonlight, whether or not his wife was asleep. “Nadine?” She didn’t stir, except to shift her arm, accidentally catching him in the nose. 

Ed bit his cheek to keep from calling out, and slowly slid from underneath the covers, not noticing that Nadine had her good eye open a crack. Trying his best to be quiet, he grasped the handle of the door. It  jostled more loudly than he’d anticipated and the latch clicked...

Outside, Cooper startled, sidestepping as the door behind him opened. Unthinking, he raced to the next door over, flinging it open to hide inside before pulling it shut just as quickly and far more loudly than he’d intended…

Bobby craned his head out of the doorway, peering fruitlessly down both directions of the hall. Sneaky like only a teenaged boy could be, he stepped out and latched the door so softly it hardly made a sound. Grinning widely at the prospect of a night spent with Shelly somewhere else other than her unfinished house, he set off when a door slammed on the right. Like a startled deer, he ceased all movement, completely immobile. Harried footsteps thumped past him, and he breathed a sigh of relief before setting off…

Ben Horne took the stairs at a brisk two at a time. Though confident that his level of inebriation had officially reached the just beyond the point where he could safely drive a car, he knew his hotel just as intimately the the exquisite heal of Catherine’s foot. The master key jingled a little in his hand. He’d given her the key to...to...301? 306? As he reached the landing, the toe of his shoe caught on the step, and he face-planted into the rough carpeting of the third floor. He let out a wounded groan before pulling himself upright, shaking his head and starting off for room 301 once more. 

“Oh hello, Mr. Horne. I’m going downstairs to find some tylenol, I hope that’s alright, because I don’t want to be getting a headache in the morning, especially because with the baby and the alcohol and that means that-”

“Yes, yes alright Ms. Moran. Go to the front desk. Whatever you need,” He cut her off. There was no mistaking Lucy Moran, even in a pitch black hallway. 

“Well goodnight Mr. Horne. I hope you have a nice sleep. I’m sure you’ll fall asleep really easily after all those drinks. Andy sure did. This is our first night without Jillian and-”

“Yes, that’s very nice Ms. Moran. Goodnight,” And, keen to find Catherine, kept walking without another word. Lucy’s sentence trailed off as he did so. She shrugged and continued down the stairs. She reached the main floor without incident and headed over to the bright glow of flashlights. 

“Hello Sheriff Truman, Hello Deputy Hawk!” She spoke cheerily, if woozily, stifling a yawn. “Would one of you happen to know where I can find some tylenol? You see I-” 

As she continued to explain her situation to yet another person,  Hawk patted Harry on the shoulder. 

“Why don’t you go on and get to bed, and I’ll help Lucy here,” He turned to their secretary with a fond smile. “Why don’t you grab that flashlight from the Sheriff and follow me?”

“Alright. Thank you Sheriff, thank you Deputy. I really appreciate it,”

Truman smiled his thank you at Hawk who waved him off without a care and walked companionably into the back room, indulging Lucy’s rambling all the way. Truman shook his head with an exasperated but genial sigh. Upstairs Josie was waiting for him. 

As Big Ed was taking his lightly clomping steps down the hall to the right,  and  Bobby was closing in on his destination from the left, another player entered the hall.  Running a hand slickly through his hair Dick Tremayne sidled out of his appointed room. Andy was still most likely down on the main floor helping, he reasoned, leaving the perfect opportunity for himself -  _ Dick Tremayne  _ \-  to reenter the lovely Lucy’s life, via  _ hotel rendezvous _ . He inserted a jaunty, confident spring into his step and walked out of his room. He’d snuck a look at which room Lucy had signed into, and conveniently arranged himself two doors down. 

It only took a moment before he found himself standing at her doorway, gingerly resting a hand on the knob, fixing his hair again and setting a dashing look on his face he opened the door with a flourish and stepped inside…

The sound of a door closing startled Truman. He paused to listen, catching the sound of light breathing and shuffling feet inside the room. Whose room, he didn’t know. He didn’t care, either. Deciding to forgo a stop in his room, Harry made straight for Josie’s. It had been a long night, and just the thought of her soft skin beneath his hands and slender form cradled in his arms was enough to convince him. Ignoring the sounds of the restless guests he set off…

Jerry heard a door slam, rousting him from his drunken slumber in the alcove just off the main door to the Timber Room. Still garbed in Baby New Year’s pristine diaper, he stood, or rather, attempted to. With all the elegance of, well, a drunken grown up in a baby costume, Jerry staggered towards the door and into the lobby. He was dimly aware of the Sheriff’s Deputy--what was his name? Eagle? Robin? Blue Jay? Some bird or other…--combing through the drawers behind the desk with the bubbly secretary from the sheriff’s department.

Sudden, inebriated desire welled up within him as he climbed the staircase and made his way to the second floor hallway. He lamented his lack of a girlfriend; as he reached the landing and started hearing the muffled sounds of footsteps and hushed voices from behind the closed doors, he couldn’t help but feel left out of this part of the New Year’s celebration. So when he thought he saw the pretty blonde head of someone who looked very much like his beloved Heba peeking out from her hotel room door and into the hallway, like a moth to a flame he was drawn towards her.

Still stuck at the far end of the hallway, between all the slamming doors and shuffling feet, Bobby sulked in a corner. He waited another moment before peeking around the corner and nearly walking into an oncoming body. Holding in his breath,  Bobby pressed himself against the wall, as  Ben Horne  breezed by, paused briefly at a door, an d entered. Bobby rolled his eyes in exasperation. At the rate he was going, he’d never make it to Shelly.

Ed paused on the threshold of the nearest door, holding his breath and standing stock still until the sound of whoever it was who stomped past had disappeared into the darkness. Exhaling harshly, Ed felt for the door handle, and was relieved when the cold metal slid into his palm. He twisted the knob and pressed his hand to the door to help push it open, pausing only briefly at the sensation of being watched, before disappearing behind the door and shutting it behind him...

Bobby threw his hands up in the air in silent frustration. Yet another midnight traveler interrupting his plans, and this time only one door down. With cautious footing, he traced his way along the wall in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that the door he was approaching was Shelly’s. She had whispered it to him in the rush to get upstairs--Room 312--but now that he’d been in this godforsaken hallway for so long, he couldn’t be sure if he was counting the numbers up or down.  _ Screw it _ , he thought.  _ It’s like that time I failed my algebra test because I kept second-guessing every answer.  _ His gut told him this was the door; he was going in...

From the main lobby now, the sound of footsteps approaching gave Jerry pause. He leaned against the wall, more for support than anything, making himself as small as possible to avoid being seen, as Lucy trudged on by. 

“Regular strength Tylenol,” she muttered. “Expired too...I’ll bet this isn’t going to do squat for me. I really should bring my own headache medication. It’s not like these migraines are a new thing…”

She stopped, three feet away from Jerry, who shut his eyes and struggled to keep from falling over. Lucy wrinkled her nose at the scent of alcohol and cast her eyes up and down the darkened hallway. “Which way was it again?”

From the far end of the hallway in front of her, a set of footfalls approached; Lucy recognized the sound of whistling, faint but still audible, coming from the mystery individual. Her blood suddenly ran cold.  _ Oh, I hope this isn’t one of those ghosts we used to tell stories about when we were in Girl Scouts…the one about the adventurer who fell off the cliff into the falls and they never found his body and he wanders the halls to this day and-- _

“Lucy?” 

A pause. “Doctor Jacoby?”

The psychiatrist laughed as he approached. “My goodness, Lucy Moran, what on earth are you doing wandering the hallways in the dark at this time of night?”

Lucy stopped to think.  _ I could ask you the same question,  _ she wanted to say, but instead she replied with a far more genial answer. “I had a headache. Deputy Hawk and I were searching for Tylenol. And all they had behind the counter downstairs was a bottle of regular strength stuff, which I don’t think is going to help me very much, if I know my headaches, and I ought to, since I was just thinking it’s been fifteen years since I first started getting migraines and--”

Dr. Jacoby smiled and reached out to pat Lucy’s arm. “Well, my dear, it sounds like you’re having quite the trying night.”

“Yes, I am,” she moaned. “And now I’m not even sure which way our room is, because I can’t see my own hand in front of my face and--”

“Let me help you,” he said. “Which room are you in again?”

Lucy told him, and allowed herself to be led, slowly and cautiously, down the pitch-black hallway. “What  _ were  _ you doing out here, Doctor Jacoby?”

In reply, he just laughed. “I like a good stroll at night. It opens pathways to the brain that I…” he trailed off. “Well, let’s just say that it helps me think, and leave it at that.”

They made their way down the hall in one direction, while Truman approached from the other. Hearing them talking, he fell back to the wall, not realizing that he was in the same position two doors down from Jerry, who exhaled loudly enough for Truman to hear him.  _ I’ve got to get out of this hallway before someone sees me _ , he thought. But in his frustration and with no help from the oppressive darkness, he was no longer sure if he was by the right door anymore either. 

He took a deep breath and recounted, starting from the stairs and working his way down the hall, even numbers on one side and odd on the other.  _ That means Josie’s door is... _ he stepped three doors down to his right and then marched across the hallway to the opposite side.  _ 317,  _ he thought, pressing his hand to the knob.  _ Here goes nothing... _

Jerry, finally confident in his aloneness, adjusted the belt of his diaper and set off again down the hall, using the grooves in the horizontal planks of wood as a handrail to steady himself as he walked. The door he’d seen “Heba” at was around here somewhere...was it two doors away? Three? It had to be three. He smiled at his brilliance and braced himself on the doorframe before gripping the door handle and easing it open, slipping silently into the room behind it...

Pete, having spent the last five minutes rummaging around for the door to the service room, busied himself behind the front desk looking for some tools. A wrench maybe; a screwdriver. He was coming up empty, however, and determined to just head out on his own when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. He swung the flashlight around and saw the solitary figure of Margaret Lanterman, sitting in a rough-hewn pine chair near the elevator bank.

“Margaret, my god!” he cried, clutching his chest. “Have you been sitting there in the dark this whole time?”

She scowled at him, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the shine of the flashlight. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know,” Pete drawled. “Asleep, in your room, would be my guess.”

Margaret scoffed. “Like I’d be able to get any sleep done with all of  _ that  _ going on…” She motioned up the stairs with a jerk of her head in that direction.

“All of  _ what  _ going on?”

She continued to stroke her log. “Unspeakable things,” she said with a shake of her head. 

Pete blinked owlishly, then shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’m off. Gotta see about those lights…”

He walked past Margaret, still sitting in her chair, and went straight to the service room, flashlight in hand, trained on the floorboards.


End file.
